


Devoured in Peace

by Chronicler



Series: Thramsay Pick ’n’ Mix [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alpha Ramsay Bolton, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Bastard's Boys & Bastard's Girls, British English, Dark, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fractured Fairy Tale, Fucked Up, Gender Issues, Historical, Horror, I'm Working On Showing Not Telling, Inspired by a Brothers Grimm fairy tale, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Poor Theon, Psychological Horror, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Ramsay is his own warning, Revisionist Fairy Tale, Short One Shot, Short Story, Wolf Allusions, hounds, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11915319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronicler/pseuds/Chronicler
Summary: Little Red Riding Hood retelling:Theon Greyjoy, prince of the Iron Islands, is going his grandmother’s house. She has sent him a pretty new cloak to wear, made of red velvet, with a hood to shut out the howl of the wind.But there's someone else waiting for him at her cottage beyond the woods: Ramsay Snow, a wild young man – except is he a man? He may be the Big Bad Wolf, after all. He has a pack with him, and a hungry glint in his eyes.Do all fairy tales really have happily-ever-afters? As Ramsay would say, you shall have to pay attention to find out…





	Devoured in Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if the brothers Grimm would want credit for this, but they're welcome to it. Also influenced by Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? a short story by Joyce Carol Oates. If one puts those into a blender with Game of Thrones, one gets this…
> 
> Thank you to Matty for beta reading. This will look better with my work skin on. Content warning: dark but not graphic. Comments very gratefully received! I just want to learn.

_ The True Encounter _

_"Wolf!" cried my cunning heart_  
_At every sheep it spied,_  
_And roused the countryside._

 _"Wolf! Wolf!"—and up would start_  
_Good neighbours, bringing spade_  
_And pitchfork to my aid._

 _At length my cry was known:_  
_Therein lay my release._  
_I met the wolf alone_  
_And was devoured in peace._

_~ Edna St. Vincent Millay_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘A pansy, that’s what you are! Flouncing about in your dresses and spreading your legs for –’ Theon’s father yelled as Theon stalked past his study. The cracked old voice boomed and echoed through the high ceilinged, cavernous hallway. Carved from stone, the grey walls bled into the faded marble of the staircase that wound upwards and disappeared high above.

Slamming the tall wooden door behind himself, Theon thrust forward into the chilly evening. He pulled his hood over his head, and grasped the velvet of his long cloak around himself as he stepped down the granite steps. Beyond, moss crept over ancient flagstones that made the path. He thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches, and chin down set off towards the forest whispering before him.

‘Theon! Theon, wait!’

He turned around as his sister hurried down the steps after him.

‘What do you want, Yara?’

She thrust a wicker basket into his hands. ‘Give this to grandmother.’

‘I’m not going to grandma’s house, I’ve got better things to do than visit an old cunt like her, I’m –’

‘Right. Then you’re going where?’

Theon just stood, holding the basket to his chest. He pulled at the red ribbon wrapped around its handle. ‘Did you tie this? Pretty. You’ll make a fine lady yet.’

Glaring at him, hands on the hips of the stiff dress their father made her wear, she ground out: ‘Blood scarlet, to match the pretty cape grandmother sent you. You’re almost a man, _baby_ brother, too old to let her dress you up like a prancing poppy. And that’s,’ she inclined her head towards the basket, ‘just a bribe from father to get his hands on mother’s money when _her_ mother dies. I wonder if she really does have bags full of gold hidden under her floorboards and mattress? I don’t care, I’ll get away from here by then, and –’

‘Be a pirate, I know, same empty dreams you always had. I’ll take it to her,’ he turned his back and started to walk away, calling over his shoulder, ‘I’ll escape to sea before you do!’

And he set off into the forest. The sky bled red, streaked across the horizon, and disappeared when the tree tops closed far overhead and the light dimmed. Leaves rustled, and twigs snapped under Theon’s boots as his stomping slowed to a pensive walk and he grew colder, the wind howling like wolves. Around him, creatures he only heard scurried and skulked, the air heavy with musky pine. Mud splattered the dark crimson of his cloak.

When he approached the far edge of the wood, the fading pink light pushed through the leaves, and the crash of waves cut through the air. The never-ending wail of Theon’s god drowning. He breathed deep, took in the heavy scent of brine. And when he emerged from the cover of trees, the jagged line of the stone cliff cut through the land to his side and it fell away to nothing. Beyond, the sea roared, reflecting crimson. Above, clouds drifted, islands in anther sea. And the bone-white crags of the moon, already rising, hung round and expectant over it all.

Up ahead the cottage stood, thatched straw roof over red stone with red roses growing around the door. It looked the same as it always had, except for the young man sitting on the porch, watching him approach.

‘Who are you?’ Theon called as he walked forward and frowned, his brow crinkling over the watery green of his eyes and below the nondescript mousiness of his hair.

The stranger grinned, his eyes as jagged grey as the cliffs. He stood, threw his arms wide and said: ‘I’m working on the cottage, doesn’t it look good? I fixed the shutters and pulled the weeds and limewashed the walls. I’m a proper handyman, I am.’

Theon cocked his head to the side. ‘You don’t look like you’ve been doing any of that.’

That earned him a lazy smile. ‘Don’t I?’

Theon felt his cheeks redden even as his eyes raked down the stranger. The black of his shirt, his britches, did look shiny wet, but dark, not blotched white by limestone. Well-tailored, but well-worn, his dark clothes were faded through wear. He was only Theon’s height, but stocky, with unruly masses of black curls. So pale he must have never seen the sun, showing scratches on his throat and bruises on his knuckles. A tarnished silver sword lay against the steps and set Theon in mind of his own crossbow left back in the courtyard. And a dagger holster was shoved through the young man’s leather belt.

The stranger followed Theon’s eyes to the weapon. ‘Just for protection,’ he smiled around the words. ‘One never knows who one will run into out in the woods and the wolds. If you were looking at the knife, that is…?’

Cheeks burning Theon answered, ‘I was.’ He looked away from the bulge in the young man’s trousers, looked out at the sea, let its coolness wash over him.

‘Of course you were. And don’t worry, if any cutthroats try to rob us, I shall protect you. You don’t have guards with you? And a horse to ride?’

Theon tried to square his shoulders and puff out his skinny chest. ‘I walked, and I don’t need guards. We have them at Pyke though, where I live: biggest castle in these parts. And a maester, and a tutor who taught me to read, and a Master of Arms who taught me to fight.’

The young man bowed, ‘Forgive me my lord, you are of course a greater warrior than I.’

‘You don’t sound like a commoner?’

‘I’m a lot of things. I’m sure there are a few things I could teach even you.’

‘I imagine you could…’

‘Would you like me to?’

Theon opened his mouth, then closed it. ‘Where’s my grandma?’ he asked eventually. ‘She in bed like usual? She’s old, she gets tired.’

‘She did go to lie down. She was feeling a little… done in.’

‘She usually gets Old Amble from the village to do any jobs she has. Or asks me, we don’t need strangers. I can do it.’

‘Of course you can, a strapping boy like you. But she wanted some bigger, stronger men. Women have needs, you know?’

‘No – I mean – yes, but she’s not like –’

‘And you can be our friend too. Don’t you want to be our friend? Join us? Howl at the moon?’

Behind Theon, twigs snapped sharp as bones, and he spun around. Another young man emerged from the trees, rising to his feet as though from all fours. He didn’t smile, just stared. Tall and dark, with sinewy muscles pushing at rugged clothes which had seen better days. And Theon went still, his chest tightening.

He tensed as another face peered around the corner of the cottage, gaze intent. When he stepped around he was big too, wild red hair brushing his shoulders.

They looked a little older than the first young man, who must be around Theon's age he realised with a jolt, the stranger's swagger belying the softness still clinging to his cheeks.

Growls, snarls next, as massive black hounds padded from the cover of tall trees to join the others, showing the jagged white of their fangs.

‘Just my boys, my pack, and my bitches,’ the first young man said with a smile, his dark, messy stubble casting his face into shadow as the sun started to dip into the ocean. ‘I neglected to introduce myself? What bad manners, and with a _Lord_ too. I’m Ramsay – Ramsay Snow, like on the mountains over yonder. Your grandmother said you were coming; young Theon Greyjoy, she said: prince of the Iron Islands. Said you’d scare us away.’ He leaned forward and his voice dropped to a husky whisper. ‘You’re not here to scare us, are you? You look like such a nice boy, in your pretty red hood…’

Ramsay sauntered over, but even under his patched shirt his muscles looked hard, coiled. He grabbed the basket, laughing as Theon reached after it, the hood falling to his shoulders.

‘Hey! – That’s for –’

‘ _Shhh_ , lamb.’ He walked away and flopped down on the steps, ripped open the basket and started to riffle through it.

‘You can’t just –!’ Theon yelled, taking a step forwards before hands grabbed him. He struggled, looked around at new, blank faces which ignored him and looked to Ramsay.

Laughing, Ramsay took a bite from an apple. Pale juice bubbled on his full lips, red as the apple’s skin.

‘Be a good boy and quiet down – everything gets easy now. Your grandma kicked up a fuss too – but then she saw sense. And before that she told us tales; once upon a times and happily ever afters. But I don’t believe in happy endings. And she told us about you. Your home sounds terribly grim, with your mean father,’ his voice mocked as his brow furrowed. ‘I know how it is, my father was like that – he isn’t like anything anymore. But it’s okay: you’re never going back.’ He threw the core to the grass, ragged with teeth marks, rose and stalked towards Theon.

Grunting as he struggled anew, Theon came to a stop when a slap stung his smooth cheek, before Ramsay grabbed his chin, leaned close with the stink of sweat. Gripped harder as Theon tried to cringe away. His other hand ran down Theon’s chest, caressing, fondling. ‘We’ll have such fun, you and I.’ He stepped back, threw his arms wide. ‘The world is ours, don’t you know that?’ He nodded to the men gripping Theon’s arms. ‘Let him go and see our handiwork.’

Theon bolted forwards, pushed his shoulder into Ramsay as he passed him, the guttural laugh that followed him hard as fists. He ran to the door, flung it open and rushed inside.

Chairs lay on their sides on the floor, and his grandmother’s fancy self-crocheted tablecloth had been pulled to the ground.

The light was failing and he grabbed a candle in its brass holder, lit it from the last embers smouldering in the hearth. Warmth crept behind him and he spun, flickering light falling on Ramsay’s grinning face. The light shook with the tremor in his hand and he tried to hold it still, tried to make it seem it was only the flames dancing.

‘My, what big eyes you have…’ Theon’s voice shook, betrayed him, as he stared into grey turned red by fire.

‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’

Theon lowered his hand a little, light glinting yellow off Ramsay’s grin, punctuated by wedged gristle.

‘What big teeth you have…’

The grin widened. ‘All the better to _eat_ you with. Piece, by piece, by piece.’

‘ _I’ll kill you_ ,’ Theon whispered, even as he backed away.

All he could see was that grin, saying: ‘Of course you will, pretty boy, I’ll look forward to it. You reek with fear, not flowers now, it’s delicious, I’ll – ’

But Theon was already turning, running, stumbling over overturned oak furniture that had once glistened and now only added to the gloom, as he stubbed his toes and banged his shins and swore at the pain. Mounds of bundled rugs left gaping holes where floorboards had been ripped up and only darkness remained. Golden coins glittered as they skittered away. His cloak grasped at jagged wood and he unclasped it, left another mound bleeding into darkness.

But he found the thin, winding, chiselled stone staircase, feeling his way up with one hand as he gripped the candleholder’s handle with the other, cutting into his palm.

He stopped before his grandmother’s chamber door. Beyond would be her massive bed carved from oak, with its four posters draped with red velvet curtains, and her embroidered quilt with its roses and chivalrous knights. He had lain under it as a child, while her scratchy voice told him stories about dragons and fair maidens. The one place he ever felt safe, with the yelling of his father and mocking of his sister locked out, his mother long since in the ground.

He paused, hand on the doorknob. Could smell a charnel house in the eerie silence.

‘Good job she liked red. There was so much _red_.’ Ramsay’s words tickled over Theon’s ear as he stood, frozen, and Ramsay's hot breath brushed past his cheek stinking of meat. The candle snuffed out.

Theon could no longer hear the sea.

 

**_ The End _ **

 


End file.
